In her loneliness she is perceived
as ethereal and distant
yet the hours of solitude
her unspeakable burden
weigh heavily
upon her fragile frame
and her face, ghostly
a tracery of fine lines
aches for colour
anchored in the cold earth
she dreams of unfurling
out of the shadows and into the light
as season, after season, her petals open
into nothing but emptiness
the darkness ever clawing at her back
the echoes of wishes, dying in the void
her stark pale face
still haunts the night
and the wind carries her perfume
to all the places, that she will never see
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 